


Thunderstorms and Piano Keys

by jackscrutchie



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Bookshop, Crushes, Fluff, Gen, Headcanon, Implied Relationships, Piano, Rain, Secrets, i dont know how to tag things here what
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 12:30:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10786791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackscrutchie/pseuds/jackscrutchie
Summary: Crutchie gets stuck in a storm and seeks shelter in a small bookshop and discovers a secret about a certain charismatic union leader.





	Thunderstorms and Piano Keys

**Author's Note:**

> So I have this headcanon about Jack idk. Sorry. <3

“Aw, them storm clouds is givin’ me the willies…” Boots shuddered, rubbing at his arms. “Ya know Crutchie, it’s spooky how right that leg of yours is.” Heavy, dark storm clouds loomed above the three boys, huddled together. They could hear thunder rumbling, low and threatening in the distance.

“Don’t act so surprised! How many times have I steered you fellas wrong, huh?” Crutchie shrugged his shoulders and grinned, proud of himself. His leg had been stiff and tingling all day – A sure sign of the impending storm. “Would I lie to ya?” He leaned forward on his crutch, fluttering his blonde lashes at the other two boys.

Davey sighed, sticking his hands into his pockets. “Alright, so it’s going to rain. That doesn’t mean that your leg can predict the weather. You know – All the time.” Earlier that day, the sun shined so bright and the sky was so blue, Davey had insisted from the start that there was no way it would rain. Even when the others ensured him that Crutchie was very rarely wrong… But Davey was a skeptic. It wasn’t his fault. That didn’t mean Crutchie couldn’t rub it in a bit when the sky began to darken.

“Maybe not, but I’d say it did a pretty good job today, huh? Mister,” Crutchie straightened up, putting on his best Davey impression, “‘Oh, no! The sky is simply too clear and there’s not enough moistur’ in the air for it ta storm!’” The smaller boy looked up at Davey and smiled, as if waiting for permission to laugh. Boots had already snickered, but clasped a hand tightly over his mouth.

As if it was the only thing Davey really knew how to do, he sighed and smiled, shaking his head. He reached out to pat Crutchie’s head once. “Alright, alright. I get it. I was wrong. You happy now?” That was enough, and the three of them broke out into laughter. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

“Yeah, right Dave! Wait until I tell th'other boys! I wish I could'a had a photo of your face when them storm clouds started –” A rumble and crash of thunder cut Boots off, causing all three of them to jump. “Right. That’s my cue to get back to the lodgin’ house.”

“And I’ve got to go pick up Les from school… Hopefully it holds off until we can get home.” Davey looked up at the churning sky. “Crutchie, you head back with Boots.”

“I’ll go back soon.” Crutchie smiled and secured his crutch under his arm. “I wanna find Jack. He said he wanted to walk back together today.” Walking with Jack was something he always looked forward to, whether they’re selling together or not. Not only that, but he was sure Jack would worry if they didn’t see each other before the storm.

“Alright well, try to hurry. I don’t want to hear you caught a cold from being stuck in the rain.” Davey raised a brow, stern and began walking backwards, waiting for a reply.

“Hey, I know how to hide from the rain!” He smiled and waved. Crutchie wished everyone would stop worrying about him so much. So he was smaller and a little less well off than the other boys… But he ( probably ) wasn’t going to break. Though, his word must have been enough. Davey nodded once, turned his back and ran out of sight. Another roll of thunder. “Boots, get goin’. Me an’ Jack’ll catch up.”

Crash.

Boots must have jumped three feet, his shoulders hunched. “Yikes… You sure?” His voice wavered and his eyes wandered up to the now blackened sky. “I don’t want ta just leave you here.”

Crutchie nodded, clapping a hand on Boots’ back twice in reassurance. “Yeah! I’ll be fine. Jack won’t be too hard to find, I’m sure! And if it gets too bad, I’ll just duck in somewhere. Besides…” He leaned close, “I know you ain’t a big fan of stuff like this.” Crutchie gestured up to the sky, the clouds looking more and more ominous by the moment.

“Hah… Well. Thanks, Crutch. But Davey is right – Make sure you get ba –” Thunder boomed again, and Boots was gone, yelling behind himself. “See ya later!”

And just like that, he was alone. Darkness swirling above him, the smell of rain thick in the air. Crutchie didn’t mind being alone every once in a while. He took a breath and started down the street, keeping his eyes peeled for that familiar and handsome face. A face that looked like home… He scanned the streets, peeking inside Jacobi’s Deli as he passed, peering through the window of the little art shop Jack liked to browse. He checked Jack’s favorite selling spots along his current path… Nothing. A few blocks of walking later, flashes in the sky told him the storm was upon him.

Handfuls of people ran past him scrambling to find shelter, the streets becoming more and more barren. His leg protested every step he took, but he picked up his pace. His eyes met the pavement, losing himself in thought for a moment. Jack probably went back to the lodging house. He wouldn’t blame him. The storm looked pretty rough. Maybe he would be better off finding somewhere to take shelter.

The sky opened up.

The rain hit him hard, soaking his clothes almost instantly. What a predicament he had found himself in. He’d never hear the end of it if he ended up catching a cold… Across the street was what appeared to be a small bookshop. It had to be new. Crutchie couldn’t remember it ever being there before – It didn’t have a sign, but there were lights on. He could see an elderly man peeking out at the downpour as thunder rattled the windows of the buildings behind him. That was enough. He had to get somewhere.

Crutchie limped, carefully and quickly as he could towards the shop. ‘Please let me in. Please let me in…’ He pleaded in his head. 'I swear I wont get nothin’ wet…’ Once he reached the door, he hesitated for a breath, reached for the handle and opened it.

Warm and comforting air. The scent of books and paint almost overwhelming – A quiet, beautiful song from a piano at the back of the room dancing in the air. It was very small and cramped, full of books with broken bindings, shelves much too high for him to ever reach. He felt so… Welcome.

“Young man… You’ll catch your death out there.” The old man at the window looked at Crutchie, soaked to the bone, and smiled. “Make yourself at home while this passes.” He gestured to the store. “Read whatever you’d like and enjoy the music. We very rarely have visitors that can play like this.” He pointed over his shoulder towards the back of the room.

Crutchie’s eyes brightened and he smiled, that special smile that lights up the room. “Th - thanks so much, mister!” He leaned forward, bowing in the man’s direction who smiled and nodded in response. He couldn’t believe the kindness – So many people would have thrown him out for just being a young, clearly orphaned kid. He’d have to think of a way to repay him someday.

“I’ve got plenty of books here to keep a young man like yourself busy. I have anything you could want. Picture books, history books, new books and old books. Adventures, romance, and mystery.” The old man beamed, straightening the glasses on his crooked nose. “And if none of that suits you, I’ve got stories I could tell you.”

“Oh, sir, I’d love to hear your stories!” Crutchie loved when people told him stories. He loved listening to Race tell him about the horse races. He loved listening to Albert’s stories about chasing the 'girl of his dreams.’ He loved to hear about Davey’s school. It was something he never got to do after all. And Jack… Jack’s were his favorite.

“Well! Let me just –” A bell rang. The door had opened and two men walked in, clearly distressed by the rain. “Gentleman.” The old man smiled to the new guests then turned to the boy. “Why don’t you take a look around. I’ll think about it and pick my best stories to share with you once I’ve finished with our new friends here.”

Crutchie nodded, excited. For now, he let himself wander, trying to not get any of the books wet. Crutchie wasn’t the best at reading, but Jack had been helping him a lot. He loved it. The stories would paint a picture in his head the same way Jack could paint putting a brush on paper. Though he struggled sometimes, he didn’t let it deter him. Jack was always there to help him work out difficult words or confusing sentences. He been more and more confident reading lately thanks to him.

The store truly was full. Book of every size filled every shelf, some very very old, some in languages Crutchie didn’t know. Some had nothing but pictures, some had so many words, he couldn’t focus on any of them. Where there weren’t shelves, there were painting. Some of them were haunting, dark splashes of paint covering faces. He could almost feel the despair pouring off of the canvas. Some of the paintings were beautiful. Things like sunsets and forests, a man and a woman walking down a path, their hands linked together. One of them reminded him of something Jack would paint. It reminded him of Santa Fe.

Thunder boomed again outside, but was dulled by the music that hadn’t stopped for even a moment at the back of the room. It was a beautiful song – Sad, but hopeful. So full of light and love. Slow for a moment, then building to a quicker tempo the notes hanging in the air around him. He smiled and closed his eyes, letting himself sway to the rhythm, getting lost in the sound. So lost that when the music stopped, he jolted out of it. Why had it stopped?

“I don’t know, Charlie…” The voice that came from the back of the room was rough, but warm. It was one Crutchie heard every single day. “I ain’t so sure about playin’ anywhere else.” Crutchie followed that familiar voice, so comforting and precious to him. A few notes rang out, “It’s been such a long time since I played for someone other than you and…” He sighed.

Crutchie moved slowly and quietly to the piano, his crutch making a dull thud every time it hit the floorboards. It was drowned out by the rain hitting the windows. “You’re real good, Jack.” He smiled, peeking out from behind a shelf. “I didn’t know you could play piano too.”

Jack jumped, pulling his hat off his head, making quick eye contact. “Crutchie! What… What’re you doin’ here?”

“Well…” He started, and walked the last few steps to stand next to Jack. He looked down, a smile still on his lips and pressed a key on the piano. Another roll of thunder. It shook the entire store – He was certain there had to be some sort of magic holding the place together. “Remember this morning when you said we should walk together? You know, so we could stop at Jacobi’s to grab a little bite?”

Crutchie could see the gears working in Jack’s head. He must have gotten really distracted. That was just Jack. His passion and creativity were so strong that he would often forget little things here and there. He would get an idea and get totally lost in his own head. It was enchanting to watch first hand. It had to have been one of those moments. Jack had gotten into trouble because of it on more than one occasion. He’d promised dates to pretty girls, or promised to teach one of the boys something but then forget. Crutchie thought it was endearing.

“Oh… Oh, Crutch. I’m so sorry.” Jack stood up and set his hand on Crutchie’s shoulder, his thumb rubbing gently at the damp fabric. “And you’re soaked.” He ran a paint stained hand through his own dark hair. “I knew I was forgettin’ somethin’.”

“Hey, it’s alright.” Crutchie smiled, his freckled cheeks turning a slight shade of pink at the tenderness. “Now I know your deepest, darkest secret. Jack Kelly, master ivory tickler! How’s that for a headline?” He nudged Jack, teasing him.

Jack smirked, nodding his head. “Oh no. I’ve been exposed.” He tilted his head back in mock agony. “How am I supposed'ta maintain my tough guy facade now?”

Crutchie laughed. Tough guy. Everyone knew how gentle and caring Jack was. “So what, just 'cause you can play piano means you ain’t tough no more?” He shivered, rubbing at his arms.

Jack shrugged his vest off, “Well, I guess I could try to play something a little more… Aggressive. Assert my authority.” His suspenders now hung loose at his sides. Crutchie’s face flushed. What was he – “Get those off.” He pointed to the three wet layers of clothes clinging to Crutchie’s small frame.

“But – !” Crutchie began to protest, but was cut short by Jack’s raised brow. “Right.” He leaned his crutch against a shelf and carefully pulled off his vest, then the dirty button up, and finally the ratty shirt under it all. He was left shivering in the sleeveless final layer between his skin and the store’s now cold air. Almost instantly, Jack draped his blue shirt over Crutchie’s shoulders. It was so warm and smelled like a mix of paint, turpentine, and sweat. It smelled like Jack. He took a deep breath, his heart fluttering.

“That a bit better?” Jack sat back down on the stool in front of the piano, his own sleeveless shirt keeping him just barely warm enough. “I don’t want you gettin’ sick.” He scooted over, just so there was enough room for the other boy to sit next to him. “Come'ere.”

He obliged, sitting next to him on the small bench. “So… Where did you learn to play?” He fought the urge to rest his head on Jack’s shoulder.

“Well,” he started, pressing a few keys down creating another beautiful sound. “When I was a real little kid, before the ol’ lady passed away, she started teachin’ me. Silly little songs. Just a few notes.” He kept going, his fingers dancing over the keys. “After she died, I tried teachin’ myself. It didn’t go too well… I mean, I was barely 5.” He smiled, the song taking form. “Then my dad died a few years later, and I wound up at the lodgin’ house – But you know that part.”

Crutchie did know that part. Jack had told him the story before. He told him the story all the way back when he had found Crutchie wandering the streets, very young, abandoned, sick and hurt. He would tell him stories about cowboys and sing him songs about Santa Fe… He remembered all of Jack’s stories –

“The first time I found myself at Medda’s theater, I was running from Snyder. I think I was 8 – Somethin’ like that, you know.” Jack looked at Crutchie and smiled, his hands never missing a beat of his song. “So there I was, scared and alone. The theater was dark. After hours, yeah? And I was a kid! I didn’t know what to do.” He nudged Crutchie’s shoulder with his own before continuing. “I saw a piano and remembered my mother. It was comforting. So – I played that little song she taught me.” Crutchie could pick out a simple song intertwined within his more complicated one.

“'course, someone heard me.” He closed his eyes, and swayed with the music. “Luckily though, it was Miss Medda herself.” Crutchie recognized the song within his own this time. It was one he’d heard Medda sing a few times before… Something about being rich and things rising when she touched them. “After she scolded me for sneakin’ into her theater, she asked me to play her that song again. So I did.” He smiled at the memory. “She’s the one that taught me how to play.”

“Miss Medda did?” Crutchie smiled wide, watching Jack’s hands amazed at the grace he possessed, though he was far from surprised. The same delicacy he demonstrated when he painted was present here, now. The way he pressed each key was so – Almost romantic. “I should'a known.”

“She did and when I met Charlie here,” he gestured towards the front where the old man was still talking with the two men who had entered earlier. “We talked a lot. I brought him his pape every day. One thing lead to another and here I am now –I play for him whenever I get the chance. He says it lifts his spirits…” 

The music slowed to a sweet, and soft melody and Jack seemed to be consumed by it. Crutchie could feel the love he was putting into this part. It reminded him of sunshine and star gazing. It reminded him of warm nights and cool breezes when they would sit up late and talk. It reminded him of listening to Jack’s stories and watching Jack paint. The song was light, love and happiness. It was warmth and freedom. It felt like home.

Crutchie held Jack’s shirt tight around himself and inhaled, a shiver running down his spine. The thunder was beginning to die down, and Crutchie’s leg had started to loosen up a bit. He could feel himself getting tired, Jack’s song relaxing him. “It’s a really nice song…”

Jack leaned over, brushing his arm against Crutchie’s. “I’m glad you like it. I wrote it about you.”


End file.
